The Chronicles of Zhe Hitler and Filthy Sanchez
by Zhe Hitler and Filthy Sanchez
Summary: The truth, here before your eyes at last. Do you have the courage to peek inside? If you have EVER been flamed, this is especially for you.


The wind blows heavily, and the ocean water crashes against the rocks at the shoreline. A shanty sits all by it's lonesome, waves occasionally splashing up the side of it. It is dark, but not too dark. The skies are filled with dark blue clouds, almost a violet color.

In a nearby feild riddled with junk, animals can be seen bulding. A few of them are constructing large works of art, crafting beautiful statues of Sonic, and his magnificent deeds of the past. Fewer than these are making original works of art,taking careful time to calculate every detail, trying to make it beautiful for this land.

Most of the animals, however, make statues of themselves, asking sonic questions, or sonic doing something dumb, like hanging out with fan characters at the beach. They always do the same shit over, and over. The same generic crap, of sonic, and the shittily made fan characters going camping, or hanging out at the beach. It's all generic, but they exclaim that it's funny and intelligent because it's random, but it isn't. It's sad, and counter-productive. All these dumb, crudely shapen lookalikes take up so much space. People think they can just pinch off a link here, and it wond bother anybody, but it does. They get in the way.

No sunlight breaks through the dark blanket in the sky, and it starts raining heavily. The rain stinks like shit, and all the intelligent animals cover their art quickly, and zip off to find some cover from the shit falling from the sky.

The dumb ones, which is sadly the majority of the group, continue to nonchalontly hammer, and chizel away at the mindless crap that they continue to work on. None of it has any meaning, it's all of it ugly, and crap. None of the workers, seem to notice or care, they just don't want you to try to help them make it better.

Sometimes the good people would try to help the dumber ones.

"Add a little more description over here, and try to do something more original." The good citizen would say.

"I TOLD U NOT TO FLAME ME! IF YOU DONT LIKE IT THEN DONT LOOK AT IT!!1!11!" The dumb ones would yell so boldly, intothe face of the person who had tried to help them.

The reviewer usually sighed, and sauntered away. Some of them would still try to politely talk some sense into these morons, but most would realize it was like talking to a stump. If of course, a stump could get pissed of, and scream profanity at you.

But nobody in the sea of crappy piles of junk noticed the nearby ocean, or the Shanty next to it. Crap rained down harder, making hollow clangs against the aluminum shack. The shack is large enough for a kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms, but no more. There sits a window, facing the piles of shit in the feild, as outsiders can hardly see the beautiful artworks buried deep inside the rot.

Zhe Hitler sits by this window, on the inside of the shack. Zhe Hitler shakes his head in disgust, as he looks at the horrible piles of rubbel in the distance.

"FILZY SANCHEZ!" He screams out all of a sudden, like he usually does.

A door across the kitchen opens, and out comes Filthy Sanchez, in all of his glory.

"Aye aye aye" Filthy groans as he exits his bedroom. His head hurt from drinking too much tequilla. He sits down at the table next to the window, and starts cutting open a blunt.

"Do you see zhis?" Zhe inquired, anding Filthy an ash tray in which to empty the cigars contents.

"Ohhh, si si si. I have been watching for a long time now." He said in a matter-of-factly tone, as he placed the new contents into the cigar.

"You have been vatching? vhen did you notice it?"

"Years ago" He said, resealing the blunt.

"Vhy havn't you mentione anyzhing? Zhis is bullshit!"

"There are some beautiful works of art in there. You just have to search really hard."

"But, vhy all zhis crap? Vhy must zhey make zhis site ugly, and mindless?"

"People try every day to talk some sense into the bulders of all the crap. They just get angry, there isn't any talking to them."

"Ve vill talk some sense into zheze imbesilez"

"Yeah... Yeah! I'm sick of being nice! Let's go see if we can't rid that field of as much crap as we can!"

Then they set off. It was a journey of strong will, and nobility. It was a futile journey though, and this they knew. All they want is for the area to look pretty again. All they wanted was to not be forced to sift through thousands of junkpiles, just to see one or two great pieces of art. Is that so hard to ask?


End file.
